The Roman hat mystery A problem in deduction
room. It was a library, well stocked with rich and rare books,
catalogued carefully and immaculate behind shining glass. A desk
dominated the center of the room. It was unpretentious for a
millionaire’s study, the Inspector noted with approval.
“Incidentally,” resumed Sampson, “Eve Ellis, the girl who you said
was with Miss Ives-Pope and her fiancé at the Roman Theatre Monday
night is here, too. She’s upstairs keeping the little heiress company,
I imagine. Don’t think the old lady likes it much. But they’re both
charming girls.”
“What a pleasant place this must be when the Ives-Popes and the actors
get together in private!” grunted Queen.
The four young men strolled toward them. Stanford Ives-Pope was a
slender, well-manicured young man, fashionably dressed. There were
deep pouches under his eyes. He wore a restless air of boredom that
Queen was quick to note. Both Peale and Barry, the actors, were attired
faultlessly.
“Mr. Queen tells me that you’ve got a pretty problem on your hands,
Inspector,” drawled Stanford Ives-Pope. “We’re all uncommonly sorry
to see poor sis dragged into it. How in the world did her purse ever
get into that chap’s pocket? Barry hasn’t slept for days over Frances’
predicament, I give you my word!”
“My dear young man,” said the Inspector, with a twinkle in his eye,
“if I knew how Miss Ives-Pope’s purse found its way into Monte Field’s
pocket, I wouldn’t be here this morning. That’s just one of the things
that make this case so infernally interesting.”
“The pleasure’s all yours, Inspector. But you certainly can’t think
Frances had the slightest connection with all this?”
Queen smiled. “I can’t think anything yet, young man,” he protested. “I
haven’t heard what your sister has to say about it.”
“She’ll explain all right, Inspector,” said Stephen Barry, his handsome
face drawn into lines of fatigue. “You needn’t worry about that. It’s
the damnable suspicion that she’s open to that makes me angry—the whole
thing is ridiculous!”
“I know just how you feel, Mr. Barry,” said the Inspector kindly. “And
I want to take this opportunity of apologizing for my conduct the other
night. I was perhaps a little—harsh.”
“I suppose I ought to apologize, too,” returned Barry, with a wan
smile. “I guess I said a few things I didn’t mean in that office.
In the heat of the moment—seeing Frances—Miss Ives-Pope go off in a
faint—” He paused awkwardly.
Peale, a massive giant, ruddy and wholesome in his morning
clothes, put his arm affectionately about Barry’s shoulders. “I’m sure
the Inspector understood, Steve old boy,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t
take it so much to heart—everything’s bound to come out all right.”
“You can leave it to Inspector Queen,” said Sampson, nudging the
Inspector jovially in the ribs. “He’s the only bloodhound I’ve ever met
who has a heart under his badge—and if Miss Ives-Pope can clear this
thing up to his satisfaction, even to a reasonable extent, that will be
the end of it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” murmured Ellery thoughtfully. “Dad’s a great one
for surprises. As for Miss Ives-Pope”—he smiled ruefully and bowed to
the actor—“Mr. Barry, you’re a deucedly lucky fellow.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you saw the mater,” drawled Stanford
Ives-Pope. “If I’m not mistaken, here she barges in now.”
The men turned toward the door. An enormously stout woman was waddling
in. A uniformed nurse supported her carefully under one huge arm,
holding a large green bottle in her other hand. The financier followed
briskly, by the side of a white-haired youngish looking man, wearing a
dark coat and holding a black bag in his hand.
“Catharine, my dear,” said Ives-Pope in a low voice to the stout woman
as she sank into a great-chair, “these are the gentlemen whom I told
you about—Inspector Richard Queen and Mr. Ellery Queen.”
The two Queens bowed, receiving a stony glance from the myopic eyes
of Mrs. Ives-Pope. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she shrilled. “Where’s Nurse?
Nurse! I feel faint, please.”
The uniformed girl hurried to her side, the green bottle ready. Mrs.
Ives-Pope closed her eyes and inhaled, sighing with relief. The
financier hurriedly introduced the white-haired man, Dr. Vincent
Cornish, the family physician. The physician made swift apologies and
disappeared behind the butler. “Great chap, this Cornish,” whispered
Sampson to Queen. “Not only the most fashionable doctor on the Drive,
but a genuine scientist as well.” The Inspector elevated his brows, but
said nothing.
“The mater’s one reason why I never cared for the medical profession,”
Stanford Ives-Pope was saying in a loud whisper to Ellery.
“Ah! Frances, my dear!” Ives-Pope hurried forward, followed by Barry,
who dashed for the door. Mrs. Ives-Pope’s fishy stare enveloped his
back with cold disapproval. James Peale coughed embarrassedly and made
a mumbled remark to Sampson.
Frances, attired in a filmy morning-gown, her face pale and drawn,
entered the room leaning heavily on the arm of Eve Ellis, the actress.
Her smile was somewhat forced as she murmured a greeting to the
Inspector. Eve Ellis was introduced by Peale and the two girls seated
themselves near Mrs. Ives-Pope. The old lady was sitting squarely
in her chair, glaring about her like a lioness whose cub has been
threatened. Two servants appeared silently and set chairs for the men.
At Ives-Pope’s urgent request Queen sat down at the big desk. Ellery
refused a chair, preferring to lean against a bookcase behind and to
the side of the company.
When the conversation had died away the Inspector cleared his throat
and turned toward Frances, who after a startled flutter of the eyelids
returned his glance steadily.
“First of all, Miss Frances—I hope I may call you that,” began Queen in
a fatherly tone, “allow me to explain my tactics of Monday night and
to apologize for what must have seemed to you a totally unwarranted
severity. From what Mr. Ives-Pope has told me, you can explain your
actions on the night of the murder of Monte Field. I take it,
therefore, that as far as you are concerned our little chat this
morning will effectually remove you from the investigation. Before we
have that chat, please believe me when I say that Monday night you
were to me merely one of a number of suspicious characters. I acted
in accordance with my habits in such cases. I see now how, to a woman
of your breeding and social position, a grilling by a policeman under
such tense circumstances would cause sufficient shock to bring on your
present condition.”
Frances smiled wearily. “You’re forgiven, Inspector,” she said in a
clear, low voice. “It was my fault for being so foolish. I’m ready to
answer any questions you may care to ask me.”
“In just a moment, my dear.” The Inspector shifted a bit to include the
entire silent company in his next remark. “I should like to make one
point, ladies and gentlemen,” he said gravely. “We are assembled here
for a definite purpose, which is to discover a possible connection, and
there must be one, between the fact that Miss Ives-Pope’s bag was found
in the dead man’s pocket, and the fact that Miss Ives-Pope apparently
was unable to explain this circumstance. Now, whether this morning’s
work bears fruit or not, I must ask you all to keep whatever is said a
profound secret. As District Attorney Sampson knows very well, I do not
generally conduct an investigation with such a large audience. But I am
making this exception because I believe you are all deeply concerned
in the unfortunate young lady who has been drawn into this crime. You
cannot, however, expect any consideration at my hands if one word of
to-day’s conversation reaches outside ears. Do we understand each
other?”
“I say, Inspector,” protested young Ives-Pope, “that’s putting it a bit
strong, don’t you think? We all of us know the story, anyway.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Ives-Pope,” retorted the Inspector with a grim
smile, “that is the reason I have consented to have all of you here.”
There was a little rustle and Mrs. Ives-Pope opened her mouth as if to
burst into wrathful speech. A sharp look from her husband made her lips
droop together, with the protest unuttered. She transferred her glare
to the actress sitting by Frances’ side. Eve Ellis blushed. The nurse
stood by Mrs. Ives-Pope with the smelling salts, like a setter-dog
about to point.
“Now, Miss Frances,” resumed Queen kindly, “this is where we stand. I
examine the body of a dead man named Monte Field, prominent lawyer,
who was apparently enjoying an interesting play before he was so
unceremoniously done away with, and find, in the rear coat-tail pocket
of his full-dress suit, an evening bag. I identify this as yours by a
few calling cards and some personal papers inside. I say to myself,
‘Aha! A lady enters the problem!’—naturally enough. And I send one of
my men to summon you, with the idea of allowing you to explain a most
suspicious circumstance. You come—and you faint on being confronted
with your property and the news of its place of discovery. At the
time, I say to myself, ‘This young lady knows something!’—a not
unnatural conclusion. Now, in what way can you convince me that you
know nothing—and that your fainting was caused only by the shock of the
thing? Remember, Miss Frances—I am putting the problem not as Richard
Queen but as a policeman looking for the truth.”
“My story is not as illuminating, perhaps, as you might like it to be,
Inspector,” answered Frances quietly, in the deep hush that followed
Queen’s peroration. “I don’t see how it is going to help you at all.
But some facts which I think unimportant may be significant to your
trained mind.... Roughly, this is what happened.
“I came to be in the Roman Theatre Monday night in a natural way.
Since my engagement to Mr. Barry, although it has been a very quiet
affair”—Mrs. Ives-Pope sniffed; her husband looked steadfastly at a
point beyond his daughter’s dark hair—“I have often dropped into the
theatre, following a habit of meeting my fiancé after the performance.
At such times he would either escort me home or take me to some
place in the neighborhood for supper. Generally we make arrangements
beforehand for these theatre-meetings; but sometimes I drop in
unexpectedly if the opportunity presents itself. Monday night was one
of those times....
“I got to the Roman a few minutes before the end of the first act,
since I have of course seen ‘Gunplay’ any number of times. I had my
regular seat—arranged for me many weeks ago by Mr. Barry through Mr.
Panzer—and had no more than settled myself to watch the performance
when the curtain came down for the first intermission. I was feeling a
little warm; the air was none too good.... I went first to the ladies’
rest-room, downstairs off the general lounge. Then I came up again and
went out into the alley through the open door. There was quite a crowd
of people there, enjoying the air.”
She paused for a moment and Ellery, leaning against the bookcase,
sharply surveyed the faces of the little audience. Mrs. Ives-Pope was
looking about in her leviathan manner; Ives-Pope was still staring at
the wall above Frances’ head; Stanford was biting his fingernails;
Peale and Barry were both watching Frances with nervous sympathy,
looking furtively at Queen as if to gauge the effect of her words upon
him; Eve Ellis’s hand had stolen forward to clasp Frances’ firmly.
The Inspector cleared his throat once more.
“Which alley was it, Miss Frances—the one on the left or the one on the
right?” he asked.
“The one on the left, Inspector,” she answered promptly. “You know I
was sitting in M8 Left, and I suppose it was natural for me to go to
the alley on that side.”
“Quite so,” said Queen, smiling. “Go on, please.”
“I stepped out into the alley,” she resumed, less nervously, “and, not